Tag: bipolar disorder

2/365
Gratitude

2/365

Ruby Pipes6 Comments

I started being serious about taking medication for my depression, bipolar disorder, anxiety, and whatever else in September of 2015. I’d tried it on and off since I was a teenager, but I was never very motivated to take it and my compliance was incredibly low. I’d asked my primary care physician for anti-depressants once as an adult, but when it completely knocked out my sex drive I abandoned the whole idea.

Since then, I’ve seen a psychiatrist and two psychiatric nurse practitioners regularly. I also saw several different psychiatrists in the hospital and my stay in a psych ward last October. I currently have someone I see monthly who I respect and am confident in. Over the last month we’ve changed up my medications a little and seem to have landed on something that is working well for me. I am so incredibly grateful to my professional team and my prescription drugs. They changed everything. They saved me.

Nadine and I used to walk around Green Lake once a week. We’ve recently gotten out of the habit, but I’m sure we’ll fall back in. There were these two dogs who always seemed to be there the same time we were. Pitbull mixes with sharp ears and short legs, they walked around the lake as if they were on patrol. They owned that territory. One day, one of the dogs was missing. Then we stopped seeing them all together. But today on my run I saw both dogs back on duty. I couldn’t stop smiling.

My friend George–who I’ve known since I was thirteen–came to visit me the last couple days. Before he left today he tidied up the entire apartment and took care of a branch that was hanging right at eye level on our sidewalk. No wonder I’ve kept him around.

Intention
Autobiography · Mental Health · Personal Development

Intention

Ruby Pipes9 Comments

“Is he taking good care of my Ruby?” she asks over lunch. I smile big, blush. Tell her about my support network. How I’ve started to reach out. How people have been asking me how I’m doing lately and I’ve been telling them.

“I’m great.”

Spent the week selling myself at job interviews and to potential roommates. Threw my hands in the air when I landed the apartment in Green Lake. Sent a text to notify my partner and best friends when my first job offer came in.

My feet finally under me. I’m coming home again.

We decide what we want to sculpt. Take a step back and examine it all. What is it that we want from each other? From ourselves. Start building a life with all the pieces we selected carefully. Leave nothing to just fall into place. This is all intentional.

While we walk down the street he reaches over and grabs my hand. Laces fingers. Pulls me closer to him and kisses my cheek. Partners. Support. We stare off in the same direction. We lean hard on each other and we take turns being the weaker one. Know when it’s our time to be strong. Give and take. We’re a team.

Mark tells me I don’t need to come to therapy anymore. That we don’t have much to talk about. We’re just hanging out. And I start to sink into the idea that this isn’t just an upswing. This is sustainable. I’ve learned how to be okay.

Back at lunch we reminisce about last year. When I had to leave my job. The city. When everything started to crumble, fall down. And we smile big and shake our heads. It feels so long ago now. So far away. It’s the quiet shadow of a memory. Alive only because we talk about it every now and then. And I’m never going back there. Wouldn’t even remember my way. This is normal. This is me. I am safe.

Photo courtesy of Joel Herzog.

Buoyancy
Autobiography · Mental Health · Poetry

Buoyancy

Ruby Pipes17 Comments

It’s different now. When I crumble. The blankets
wrapped up around my face and I squirm
in the sheets.

This is not the same sadness we became so well
acquainted with. Not the monster we learned to
battle. No, I face this one alone and

only sometimes. I do not pull my knees to my
chest anymore. Do not wail into the universe about
not wanting to exist in it.

But on occasion I still find myself fighting
my own chemistry. My own memory of how I am and
how I am supposed to be.

Clay that should become tile piles up in the studio. I
argue with the urge to cut all my hair off.
Stay all day on the couch watching Breaking Bad again.

Familiar feeling, but not quite the same. Closer to déjà vu than a
clear remembering. I’m fumbling, but I trust myself to
find my footing again. I understand that this is

not how it ends. I make phone calls. Send texts.
Reach out like I never felt capable of before. I know I’m worth the
struggle this time. I know.

I find myself wondering if I would have made it. If this
desire to stay afloat was always present, even when not
presenting. If my will to live has always been vivacious,

relentless. Must have been. Because whenever they’ve asked
what they can do for me, I’ve always said, “Listen. But
do nothing.” When the time came, I’ve always known the battle is

fought and won by myself. Just listen. And sometimes that means
just to my breathing. My energy. Be present. Hold space for me and
expect nothing.

We are learning to do that again. In new places with new people and new
ideas of what succeeding looks like. We are beginning
again. And this time I know we’re not quitting.

–––––

Hey! I have a Facebook page now. Go like it to not only stay in the loop with what’s going on over here, but for all sorts of other fun stuff. There will be at least one video. Haven’t you been wondering what my voice sounds like?

Photo courtesy of Wayne Lo.